


Offer Me That Deathless Death

by velvetjinx



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, The Addams Family (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into Vampire, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Epistolary, Multi, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Elements, The addamses being the addamses, Vampires, Wolves, which are basically just big dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx
Summary: In 1872, Gomez Addams travels to Romania to assist Count Dracula in finding a home in upstate New York. Things do not pan out quite how the count is expecting.
Relationships: Arthur Holmwood/Lucy Westenra, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Quincey Morris/John Seward
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Offer Me That Deathless Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleleotas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleleotas/gifts).



> I don’t know where this idea came from except that I was muchly inspired by littleleotas who is exceptional in all things but especially writing Addams Family Fic. This is a gift for her, in thanks for all her help always, even when it’s not even her fandom.
> 
> Title from Hozier’s “Take Me To Church” because why not amirite.

_** Excerpt from the journal of Gomez Addams ** _

_Petecu, Romania, November 9th, 1872_

I arrived by sea to Thessaloniki in Greece seven days ago, and have traveled by carriage to the small town of Petecu where I will stop for the night before traveling to my final destination. A real, old world castle! What an adventure! 

I look forward to meeting the Count, Dracula as he is known, very much. He sounds in his letters to be somewhat of a kindred spirit. He has been looking for a property in upstate New York, my own home turf! Although I do not need to work I detest being idle, and am now glad I took the job with Harker & Sons Estate Agency. It has given me the opportunity to travel with purpose! My only regret is leaving my dear fiancée Morticia—ah, Morticia! Even her very name sets my heart aflame with love! We are to be married when I return, and then I will truly be the happiest man in the world. 

_Cara mia_ , we will be together again soon!

The people in these small mountain villages are quaint, and seem to view the Count with some superstition. So much the better! It piques my curiosity even further. Well, tomorrow I shall meet him. 

_Castle Dracula, Transylvania, Romania, November 10th, 1872_

I received word today that we are to set off in the evening, after sunset, as the Count has business during the day. Well, what is another few hours? I spent the day in the village, and many of the locals stopped and stared at me. There is much snow on the ground at this altitude, as we are in the mountains, and many of the locals wear fur to keep them warm. I was glad of my own woolen peacoat, and the gloves and scarf which Morticia had knitted for me. I wear them, still with the faint scent of her perfume, and my mind is consumed by her! 

Duly, after sunset, the carriage took me further into the mountains. The driver took some convincing, as there seems to be some further superstition about driving at night here. Perhaps it was because of the wolves, which ran beside the carriage most of the way. 

In the middle of nowhere, my carriage stopped. 

“Orders are to leave you here,” the driver told me, in that beautiful local accent. He did so, and although the wolves were nearby, they did not come too close. 

After about fifteen minutes, a carriage came down from the mountain; a coach and four, drawn by horses as black as night with fiery eyes. Beautiful beasts! I was bidden to make myself comfortable in the carriage, and did so. The coach was as fast as if it were pursued by the hounds of hell, and barely any time passed before we found ourselves at the castle. 

It is truly an imposing abode, somewhat bigger than even my family home, although the decor is similar. I was shown into an enormous entrance hall, and within a few moments my host—the Count—came to greet me. He is an older man, and was dressed all in black. I approved greatly of his style of dressing. 

“My friend,” he said, and held out his arms. We embraced, kissing on both cheeks. “How was your journey?”

“Excellent!” I told him. “You have many wolves in these mountains?”

“Yes,” he replied, his expression sly. “The children of the night. What music they make!”

I could hear them howling, and could not help my smile. “A soothing sound indeed!”

He seemed taken aback by this, but simply took my bag and led me up the staircase. “There are no servants here,” he said. “You must excuse me.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “But how do you manage such a large castle by yourself?”

“I have my ways,” he replied mysteriously. 

The room he showed me to was amply comfortable, and he told me that he would collect me to take me to supper in thirty minutes. “For,” he said, “I would not wish for you to get lost. There are certain areas in this castle which are off limits.”

I told him I understood—a man must be entitled to privacy in his own home! He seemed pleased by my answer, and left to allow me to wash and change. 

When I was ready, he appeared again, leading me to a dining room. He explained that he had eaten already, but I was to eat my fill. 

“Will you not even join me in a glass of this fine wine?” I asked. 

"I do not drink... wine,” he replied. 

"Then, my friend, you do not live!” I told him. “For what is more romantic than wine the color of blood!"

"Blood, yes,” he said absently, staring at me. 

"Why are you looking at my neck?” I asked him. “Did I miss a spot when shaving?"

He shook his head. 'Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous that you think in this country.”

It was an odd statement, but he seemed affable if slightly eccentric, so I made no comment. 

As I ate and drank, we discussed his requirements for an abode in Upstate New York. I now have a much better idea of his requirements, and tomorrow evening we will start looking through the documents. 

_Castle Dracula, Transylvania, Romania, November 11th, 1872_

I slept rather late today—unlike me to do so, as I am normally an early riser—and stayed in my room as the Count had requested. I read several chapters of one of the many books I had brought and wrote a letter to Morticia, pouring out my love for her onto the page. She is perfection! My heart cries out for her touch!

My breakfast had been left on a tray outside my room, and I admit I ate it as heartily as I have ever eaten anything. What wonders the mountain air does for one’s appetite!

After sundown the Count came for me, and we went over several properties. While looking through the documents, a photo of my own dark goddess Morticia which had been mixed among them fell out onto the table. The Count’s reaction was a strange one. He gasped, as overcome with her beauty as befits her. 

“Who is she?” he asked hoarsely. 

I admit I nearly burst with pride. “My fiancée, Morticia,” I told him. “Is she not perfection?”

“She is beautiful,” he said. “So like…” He trailed off, and cleared his throat. “When I was young, there was a woman that I loved. She passed away too young. She was not unlike your Morticia.”

“I am sorry to hear that, my friend,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Those we love always leave us too soon, unless we are fortunate enough to die first.”

“Fortunate, yes.” He sighed. “No matter. Let us get back to looking at these properties!”

He finally chose one—practically a ruin—which he claims will suit his needs adequately. It is next door to Rolling Hills Asylum, in East Bethany, so he will have interesting neighbors! 

With our business concluded so quickly, I was eager not to trespass on his hospitality too much longer and get back to my own, beloved Morticia. But he told me that he would appreciate the help getting his affairs in order to move as he has no family. I am willing, then, to stay another week, though no longer. I miss she with the long black hair who sets a fire in my blood!

_** Excerpt from a letter from Morticia Frump to Gomez Addams ** _

_East Bethany_

_New York_

_USA_

_November 8th 1872_

My darling Gomez,

I long for your return, _mon cher_ , more than I can ever express. I hope that, by the time this missive reaches you, you will be already on your way home to me. 

I arrived at Lucy's this morning. Dear Lucy. She has a wonderful heart, though her mother's decor is perhaps not to my taste. She is more a lover of florals and pastels. Darling, it's so different from your family home, which I much prefer, with dark, gloomy corners and shadowy places to lose and find yourself in. 

And to think it will soon be my home too! That thought thrills me like no other. To have moonlit walks in the graveyard among the long-dead Addamses, to build our family there—my soul leaps at the very thought.

Lucy has three rather lovely suitors dancing attendance to her at the moment. Nothing compared to you, of course, but nice boys all the same. The first is Arthur Holmwood, an English boy who is heir to a title. He’s very much in love with Lucy and is, I believe, her favorite. The others are a cowboy, Quincey Morris, and a doctor at the nearby Rolling Hills Asylum, John Seward. Those two dance around each other as much as they dance around Lucy so should she, as I suspect, choose Arthur then I do not believe they will be long unconsoled. 

_(Several paragraphs omitted)_

Hurry home, _mon cher_. 

Your own,

Morticia

_** Excerpt from the journal of Gomez Addams ** _

_Petecu, Romania, November 16th, 1872_

I had an exceptionally peculiar experience last night. Despite the late hour, I could not sleep, and thought to find the kitchen for a glass of wine to send me off to slumber. Instead, I found myself in a room with a large, sumptuous, four-poster bed. As the door closed behind me, a weariness overcame me and I felt drawn to the bed. No sooner had I lain on it than three women—bare from the waist up—approached from all sides and crawled toward me. 

I tried to speak, to tell them of Tish, but I could not. It was as though that power had left me. As they crawled closer, my soul cried out for she who consumes my soul, and I in turn managed to shout for Morticia. The women hissed and withdrew. 

I managed to get up from the bed, and met the Count outside the door of the room. 

"Did you know you have semi naked women in that room?" I asked him. 

He seemed taken aback. "...Yes?"

I nodded. "Just checking,” I said, and went back to my room where I slept as soon as my head hit the soft pillow. 

Today, he asked me if I could stay another week. When I told him I could not, he told me I was free to leave at any time, of course, although it may not be advisable. He gestured out the window at the wolves who had gathered below. Or perhaps it was at the expanse of snow on the mountains. It is not so far to the nearest village that I could not make it by foot. 

I packed my case, for our business has been concluded now and he is prepared for his move to the USA. He bid me farewell, with a strange smile, and I left. I saw him watching me from a window as I played with the wolves in the courtyard—they excel at fetch!—and he seemed to wear an expression of confusion as I left. 

The local villagers appeared surprised to see me, and immediately sent me to the local convent. The nuns were very kind, as nuns sometimes are, but given that we Addamses tend to worship darker powers I soon left them and have set up in the tavern. I will travel toward home tomorrow, and cannot wait to see Tish. I have written already of my return! 

The wolves are howling in the distance, lulling me to sleep. To you, Tish, _Cara Mia_. I shall see you soon!

_Thessaloniki, Greece, November 24th 1872_

My ship has been delayed due to terrible weather in the mouth of the Mediterranean, although ships are sailing from Calais and Portsmouth. Would I had traveled over land! The captain says we will be delayed at least a week, at this rate. He says that the storm blew up out of nowhere, and is strangely concentrated in the one area. 

I have received a letter from Tish! She is staying with her friend Lucy, not two miles from the property which the Count has purchased! I believe he is traveling overland to Varna in Russia—sensible man!—and so may arrive in New York before I do at this rate. This is a shame, as I would have liked to introduce him to my darling Morticia, but perhaps they will meet by happy accident! So he may have a friendly face when he arrives. 

I must write to Tish and let her know how delayed I am, and not to expect me for a few weeks yet. Oh, how I long to hold her! 

_** Excerpt from the journal of Morticia Frump ** _

**__** _East Bethany, New York, December 3rd 1872_

It will still be ten days or so until _mon cher_ Gomez returns. We will be married immediately, among the dead trees of winter. Such a beautiful time! I feel that I have been waiting too long to be wed to him. 

There were strange reports of a ghost ship which ran aground four days ago in New York City. All the crew were missing, save for the deceased captain who had lashed himself to the mast, and a large black dog which leapt from the boat and disappeared. I wonder if it was rabid?

Lucy has been acting peculiarly the last two nights—sleepwalking, and becoming terribly forgetful of everything but her dreams. She has, however, accepted Arthur’s hand in marriage, which is nice. She will make a good lady of the manor. It is a lovely life, but I much prefer the dark and horrors of the Addams house. So much to discover in one’s own home! And such a wonderful place to bring up children, if I dare to dream of such a thing. 

Lucy’s dreams concern me, however. She is one for the light and airy, but her dreams are more like mine now—dark and filled with fear. She confides in me that there are wild beasts in her dreams, and a man with dark hair and burning eyes. As Arthur is blond with blue eyes, I cannot think who she is dreaming about. 

As I suspected, Quincey and John were not long inconsolable, and I believe that they have found solace in each other. They have said nothing, of course, but each look, each touch, each gesture speaks of something which may blossom into love. 

Ten days, _mon cher_. 

_East Bethany, New York, December 5th 1872_

Lucy continues to dream strange dreams, and is becoming increasingly pale and listless. John says that he has not seen such symptoms since he was in medical school and treating a man with pernicious anemia. He believes that his old teacher, Dr Van Helsing, may be able to help, and has written to him to speed him here for a consultation. 

In the meantime, Lucy seems to be in denial that anything is the matter. She plans her wedding to Arthur until she is exhausted, and her mother and I conspire to make her rest. Then she tosses and turns restlessly, plagued by the dreams which seem to come more and more frequently. 

Yesterday evening, as we sat in her room after sundown, I saw a bat outside her window, beating its wings against the glass. She seemed to go into a trance for a few moments, then the bat flew away and she came back to herself. 

“What were we talking about?” she asked me dreamily, and truth be told I could not remember myself. The bat—bigger than I have ever seen in these parts—had distracted me. 

I worry about her. She needs some of Mamma Addams’s medicinal tonic, then she would feel better. 

_East Bethany, New York, December 8th 1872_

Dr Van Helsing arrived today, having been delayed due to a need to set things in order in his own practice before coming. He examined Lucy, tutting the whole time. He asked Lucy, who has taken to wearing a scarf around her neck, to remove the accessory. Her hand went immediately to her throat, and she shook her head. 

“No,” she cried out. “I cannot, I must not, you cannot make me!”

She made as if to run from the room, but Arthur caught her in his arms. 

“My love, it is a simple request,” he said. “Can you not do this small thing?”

He led her back to the chair, and the doctor removed her scarf. There, on the side of her neck, was a small, ragged bite mark. Not like an insect bite, but rather like an animal. 

“It is as I feared,” the doctor said, his voice as grim as I have ever heard. “ _Nosferatu_. The living dead.”

“Preposterous,” Arthur scoffed. 

I myself confess I was intrigued by the concept. 

“Not preposterous at all,” the doctor told us. “I have done many scientific studies into these _vampyrs_ as they are also called. They drain the blood of their victims, and sometimes—as I believe is the case with young Miss Westenra—they make their victims into one of them.”

“What does that mean?” John asked, intrigued. 

“It means that we must act quickly to save Miss Westenra from a fate worse than death.”

A fate worse than death! The only thing I could think of that for this description was a life without my beloved Gomez. 

“She will become a creature of the night, feeding on the blood of innocent victims, unless we act,” the doctor continued. 

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to be like that,” she said, tears falling down her unusually pale cheeks. 

“Do you put yourself in my hands?” the doctor asked. Lucy nodded. “Good. First things first, we must put garlic and garlic blossoms everywhere. I must also ask which of you is willing to donate their blood, as Miss Westenra needs a transfusion as soon as possible.”

“We all will,” John declared, and Arthur nodded in agreement. 

“I still think this theory is ridiculous,” Arthur said, “but I will do what I can to help.”

Lucy’s room is now covered in garlic and garlic blossoms, and Arthur has donated his blood to her. I do hope she recovers. 

_East Bethany, New York, December 13th 1872_

Lucy passed away today. Death is a part of life, as I reminded myself, but it is still difficult to see her sweet, usually animated face so peaceful. The garlic was ineffective, partly because she and her mother kept taking it down, but the damage is done now. 

She will be laid to rest in three days in the family crypt. Arthur is inconsolable. The marks on her neck have magically healed, and her teeth look a little sharper, which the doctor says is a mark of what he feared. He tells us we must keep an eye on her in death as much as in life. 

In happier news, I received a wire from _mon cher_ Gomez today. He has finally arrived back in New York and will be making his way here as soon as he can. My heart is full at the thought of seeing him. 

_East Bethany, New York, December 18th 1872_

Gomez was called back to the family home to see his ailing father, and so I will join him there in a few days and we shall be married. I can hardly wait to finally be his wife. 

As for Lucy—I can scarcely believe what the men told me. The night after Lucy was buried, she was seen in the graveyard, cuddling a young child. She was chased off and the child was taken back, unharmed but for a small puncture wound on his neck. 

Yesterday, the men went to her grave an hour before sundown. She lay in her crypt, fresh and with more color in her cheeks than when she had died! The men had to drive a stake through her heart, chop off her head, and fill her mouth with garlic! They did not know I overheard them talking about it, but I saw Arthur’s bloodstained clothing and was curious. 

I assume this is something to do with the _vampyr_. 

I do hope this is the end of it. 

_Ithaca, New York, December 22nd 1872_

I have finally been wed to my darling Gomez! The trees outside of the Addams house were blackened by the winter storms—a perfect backdrop for a perfect wedding. Mother did ask again why we had decided against a spring wedding but really. All that sunshine? I think not. 

Gomez is perfect in every way. He understands me down to my dark soul. I love him deeper than a chasm, deeper than the deepest dark cave. And yet he grieves; grieves for the brother who never came home, grieves for his ailing father who cannot last long now. All too soon Gomez will find himself master of the house. I know he is ready, but I’m not sure if he knows it. 

I just looked out of the window and saw a large black wolf-like hound in the graveyard, with eyes aflame. It looked rather like a hellhound. How exciting. I wonder if it can be tempted into being domesticated. 

_Ithaca, New York, December 27th 1872_

I had the strangest experience last night. While lying in bed I thought I heard a deep voice say, “Morticia, come to me!” but there was no one in the room, merely a large bat outside the window. The voice spoke again, but as it was probably only one of the spirits in the house I told it sternly that I was trying to sleep and closed my eyes. 

_Ithaca, New York, December 28th 1872_

We have a new pet, although how we got it is not a tale to tell my friends in East Bethany. 

Last night I could not sleep, so I went for a walk through the graveyard. As I sat on one of the sarcophagi the wolf-like creature I had seen approached, turning into a man as it walked toward me. 

“Morticia, come to me,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. 

“But we have not even been properly introduced,” I told him. 

That seemed to surprise him. “Morticia, come to me!” he said again. 

“I do not think so,” I replied. 

As we looked at each other, Gomez came from the house in his smoking gown, two rapiers in hand. He stopped short when he saw the man. 

“Count Dracula, old man, how are you?” he asked with a laugh, holding out his hand. But the Count did not shake his hand. 

“Morticia will be mine!” he stated in deep, low tones. 

“I think not, Dracula,” Gomez scoffed. “Morticia and I are married now.”

“She is my love, in a new body!”

All at once I saw—the poor man was grieving a lost love and had fixated on me! But of course that was preposterous. 

“I took your friend Lucy from you so you would understand my power, and now you will come with me!”

“You are the _vampyr_?” I asked him. “That was truly dreadful what you did to poor Lucy.”

He again looked surprised. 

“If you wish to steal my wife from me, then you will have to come through me!” Gomez declared, throwing one of the rapiers to the Count, and they began to fence. Gomez was well matched, but before long had the Count on his knees. 

“Strike me through the heart,” the Count told him. “For it is the only way to kill me, and I will not live without her.”

“What’s all this commotion?” 

We looked around to see Mamma Addams coming out from the house. 

“This gentleman seems to want to take me away, Mamma,” I told her. 

“Nonsense.” She peered at him. “Undead, are you? Not good for much unless you can turn into a bat. We’re plagued with flies around the house.”

I had a sudden thought. “We should trap him in his bat form. That way he can live with us and be useful, and we will all be happy.”

“What do you say, old man?” Gomez asked him. “Better than a sword through the heart, eh?”

The Count bowed his head. “I have been bested. Do as you see fit.”

Mamma cooked up one of her potions, and fed it to him. He immediately turned into his bat form, and seemed unable to turn back. 

“That should hold him,” Mamma said. “Now don’t try any funny business or I'll turn you into a stew.”

The bat seemed to nod, and flew away to rest in the rafters of the kitchen. 

Dracula is fitting in fine and keeping the flies away from Mamma’s cooking. And as for me, well, I’m almost certain there will be a little Addams around very soon. 

_Fin_


End file.
